A/N: Before I start with the story I have something I need to say. For several weeks now an anonymous reviewer has been accusing several writers on here of plagiarism, including myself. I would like to state, categorically, that I have never plagiarised anybody else's work.

I do acknowledge that some stories on the site have the same basic idea/premise, but that's not plagiarism. Plagiarism is copying someone else's work word for word and passing it off as their own.

I wouldn't normally use my author's notes as a mouthpiece for this kind of thing, but as the reviewer has elected to remain anonymous, cutting off any possible communication to clarify points or defend my writing, I feel I have no choice but to address them here. Apologies for the mini-rant but I felt it needed saying.

Love Me: a fluffy drabble

I think I'm in love with two different girls. Actually, I know I am. True, it's nearly three morning and I haven't had a full night's sleep in over a week but, that's not so unusual for me; I am thinking clearly.

Just nine days ago my wife and I brought home this beautiful creature and she's all ours. As I sit here in this rocking chair, with one girl of my dreams cradled in my arms whilst the other sleeps soundly in the next room, I realise that this is heaven. Or as close to it as I could possibly get.

I take inventory of the child in my arms, as I do every night while Ruth is sleeping. Ten fingers, ten toes. I touch the soft down on my daughter's head. Her hair is fair like mine, but she has her mother's eyes. Ruth keeps reminding me that all babies have blue eyes when they are born, but I dismiss it, secretly hoping that they don't change.

She has a tiny upturned nose and a few freckles that dot across her cheeks and down her neck. And I love the way she smells. That sweet baby scent - I don't know what it is. A mixture of baby
powder, lotion, baby sweat? If they could bottle it up I'd be purchasing it by the bucket-load.

But right now I'm content since I have the real thing in my arms. She stirs and her eyelids flutter slightly and then I glimpse those beautiful blue eyes. They focus on my face, almost as if memorising it. I wonder what she's thinking. Probably something along the lines of 'Let's see, big nose, fair hair though not much of it, brown eyes, a few wrinkles. Not too bad. We'll give him an 'A' for effort.'

Overall, I'd say she's a good baby. I mean, I wasn't there for much of my older children's first months, so I can't really make any comparisons but the newest addition to my family sleeps well, only tending to wake when she's hungry or dirty. When she's awake she is is very inquisitive, just like her mother, constantly looking around taking in her surroundings.

She's certainly not afraid of letting us know when she wants or needs something either; she certainly has a powerful set of lungs which, if I'm not mistaken, she will start putting to good use any moment now as she has stopped looking at me and is rooting for her food.

"You won't get any milk from me darling," I whisper, bouncing her gently to try and stave off a powerful cry. "Lets go and find Mummy eh?"

I pad through to the bedroom where Ruth is already waking. (The ability of mothers to know when their child needs feeding is something I find quite miraculous.) I hand our daughter to her mother and, grabbing the glass off Ruth's nightstand, head for the kitchen. When I return with Ruth's water a few moments later, our daughter is suckling happily at Ruth's breast. I take my place next to them on the bed, stroking our daughter's head gently and marvelling at the sight that is Ruth nursing her. I can't put my finger on what it is about it that mesmerises me so, but I could watch it for hours. It wasn't easy for Ruth at first, our daughter had had trouble latching on when she was first born, but we persevered and I couldn't have been prouder of her for not giving up, although he would have supported her if she had.

"She really does need a name," I observe as she feeds. Ruth and I started thinking about names six months into the pregnancy but we couldn't agree so decided to wait until she was born, so we could get to know her a bit before committing to a name.

"Funnily enough, I had a thought about that earlier," Ruth replies, switching the baby to her other breast.

"Oh?"

"Aimee."

"Aimee," I repeat, testing out the name.

"Spelt A-I-M-E-E," she continues. "It's a french name, derived from the Latin 'amatus' meaning 'loved'."

"It sounds perfect."

So our daughter now has a name; I can only hope we've chosen well for her. I think we have because she was made from love and will know love like no other. How could she not with Ruth and I as parents? We've loved each other for years and have both been willing to sacrifice ourselves for the other.

As if reading my thoughts, something she does oh so well, Ruth stretches up and kisses me. I return the kiss and there we sit; full of love.